


Terrifying Sweet

by Emnot



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Gen, George and Alanna are a terrifying combination, George maybe likes it a bit too much when Alanna kills people, and Jon knows it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emnot/pseuds/Emnot
Summary: George slammed her up against the wall. Big hands went to her waist and the back of her neck. “You just killed eight men.” His voice was barely audible, and his eyes were glittering.Alanna swallowed and gave a half-shrug. “I missed you,” she said lightly.__________Alanna killed for Jon, but she would murder for George. Set after Lioness Rampant.





	Terrifying Sweet

This, Alanna thought grimly, was the difference between George and Jonathan.

True, she loved Jonathan. He’d been her best friend, her prince and now her king. Between the two of them there were so many (she shoved her dagger hilt-deep between the ribs of the man behind her) ties of blood and loyalty that nothing, not even both of their respective ferocious tempers, would ever truly break them apart.

She yanked her dagger back and wiped it on the man’s tunic as he tipped forward with a gurgle. As King’s Champion her fealty laid less with the realm as an abstraction and more with Jonathan himself, as a man. (She stepped around the corner, feet quiet in the dark, and launched one of Buri’s K’miri throwing stars into the throat of the man waiting in the doorway.)

She was Jon’s sword arm, his protector. She’d killed for him and would again.

But for _George_ —

She held off on thinking in order to neatly dispatch the two final men guarding the doorway on the night watch, sword scything in an arc that caught one in the chest and one in the neck. They went down, and stayed down. She took a moment to quiet her breath and wipe her brow with the black cloth that covered most of her face. Her head was aching a little with the effort of keeping a glamour on her too-recognizable eyes. Really, she shouldn’t be here, and so the extra precautions were essential.

Fortunately she had a husband for whom Rogue work was as water to a duck. He’d trained her well over the years. Back to him, then, she thought, pushing open the door noiselessly and giving herself a tiny spark of purple fire to light her way down the stairs into the basement. The idiot man had managed to get himself taken by a gang of Gallan traders. Intentionally, Myles had said: Tortall’s spy service had been trying to infiltrate the ring for years, suspecting trade in things more deadly than wine and leather. George had posed as a wealthy merchant, one with too much coin and curiosity for his own good, and they’d scooped him up and locked him in a way station on the border. There, in the heart of the operation, he was learning much more than anyone on the outside ever had.

And he was supposed — _supposed,_ Alanna thought furiously, to be recovered four days ago by Myles’ men in Galla. But (she heard raised voices in the distance) the rescue squad had slipped up and been caught and killed, and now the gang knew George was more than just a curious merchant. What merchant would have had a passel of picklocks and trained fighters coming to jailbreak him? (The voices got nearer, and she stepped back into the shadows and let her light go out.)

They hadn’t yet figured out who George really was, Myles had assured her, and his spymaster in Galla was working triple-time to launch a second attempt — and it was about this moment that Alanna had cut him off, feeling her rage rise unchecked.

“I want him out _now_. I want him out _today_.”

“Alanna, we can’t —“ Myles began.

“How long is the ride to the border?”

Jon, leaning on Myles’s desk, had shaken his head. “I’m not sending you to Galla. This was a spy service operation from the beginning, and it needs to stay that way til the end.” He’d looked at her very seriously, blue eyes bright. “I’m so sorry, but —“

She hadn’t listened to the rest of what he’d said. That conversation had been the seed of her current thinking. (She drew her sword in the dark and stepped into the pathway of four guards.) The truth was (she ran one through and then dropped to her knees to avoid being clubbed, and hamstrung the next with her dagger) that Jon’s place in her heart was a very tidy one. When she killed for Jon she killed with duty, honor, and rules. (She sliced up and across with her blade, aiming for the third guard. It worked, even if it forced her to take a deep graze from the last thug standing. He was knocked out for his pains.) At the palace or on the battlefield, under the flag of Tortall, she killed clean. Her victories were sung by the heralds and the Mithran priests, and it was all just… clean, flat, and heroic. Like Jon.

But here she was, in disguise, at midnight, in defiance of orders, in a way station on the Gallan border, fighting dirtier than she had in years. If that didn’t say George all over it she didn’t know what did.

Because, new title or no, George was dirty. George lived for the sleight of hand, the loophole, the back alley, the hidden dagger. He taught her knife tricks, whispered filthy things in her ear while they danced at formal events, still pinched bottles of whiskey just to prove he could. One sidelong look from him, hazel eyes twinkling under long lashes, could make her blush. In bed he fought her down, teased her, made her beg, all mouth and clever hands and _that’s it, my girl, come for me_ — and she would wake up the next morning with teeth marks on her throat and bruises on her hipbones and a husband who would catch her wrist and shake his head, grinning wickedly, when she went to heal them.

Alanna slit the last man’s throat while he was down. This was the difference: she killed for Jon, but she’d murder for George.

She carefully stepped over a spreading pool of blood to continue down the sloping passageway. Most of the storage chambers on either side of her, closed off by iron gates, were packed with sacks of grain and crates of wine. But at the far end, on the right, stood one that from her vantage looked empty. That meant what she was looking for was inside.

As she approached the chamber’s gate, she heard a rustle and a clank inside, and then a sigh.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said her husband’s voice, very quietly.

She stepped into the pool of light that spilled out of the small room. A small torch flickered from a high bracket, illuminating George’s face where he sat against the far wall. His eyes were closed. He had a fresh bruise across one cheekbone, and a slash ran from above his eye into his hair. Both wrists were cuffed in front of him. “You shouldn’t be here either, which is why I am,” she told him, equally quiet, but tart.

One corner of his mouth lifted. He blinked his eyes open. “And I’m to think our good Jon sent you on this backwater venture?”

She cut her eyes at him. “Think whatever you like, laddybuck. Did they mage-proof the locks?”

He shook his head, and she touched a glowing fingertip to the bolt on the iron gate. It cracked with a little fall of rusty powder. She swung the gate open. George pulled himself to his feet. When she stepped towards him, reaching for his cuffs, he shook his head and drew them away. She frowned.

“Pick them, if you brought lockpicks,” he murmured. “No sense leavin’ more evidence of your presence for the Crown’s men to find, if you don’t want them to know you were here.”

Alanna gave a small smile and gripped his wrists. “Maybe I _do_ want them to know I was here,” she said grimly. There was a purple flash, and the cuffs went to pieces under her hands. She glanced up at George. His eyes were shining.

“Lead the way out, Lioness,” he told her quietly.

She did. They had to step over the four dead men in the hallway. George’s eyes flicked over them, taking in their wounds. A corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything. She lit their way back up the stairs with a purple glow. They tread lightly in case backup had arrived, but none had. When they emerged into the alley, the second group of four bodies still laid where they’d fallen. George rose his eyebrows. “None of their friends heard the ruckus and came runnin’?

“I was quiet,” she muttered.

George gave a slow, dark smile. “That’s my girl.”

She led them down the alley away from the house. At the far end, where it opened onto the street, she stepped into the shadows. He joined her, standing very close, hands clasped behind his back. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. Her fingers itched to heal the bruise and the slash on his face, but there wasn’t enough time. “There’s a horse waiting for you in the stable at the inn two streets over. The piebald mare. She’s got a brace of daggers and an extra set of clothes in her packs. There’s a cloak, a clean shirt — enough that you won’t look like a criminal on the road.” He snorted. “We’re only a half-day’s ride from Corus, as it is, and the horse is fresh. If you leave now, you’ll be back in the capital by dawn. Myles doesn’t know you’re coming.”

He bit back a smile and jerked his head in the direction they'd come from. “Your sword work back there doesn’t give me a likely story to tell.”

“Tell an unlikely one, then,” she snapped, still keeping her voice quiet. “The shackles rusted. The gate wasn’t bolted securely. Who knows how the men died? I don’t care.”

“I’ll think of something,” he drawled, and he was standing very close to her indeed.

Alanna tugged her gloves more securely on her wrists. “I’m going opposite to you — I’ll sleep on the road and get back to Corus tomorrow evening. As far as Jon knows, I’m off visiting Buri at one of the Rider camps.”

“And what’s as far as Buri knows?”

“Buri knows not to ask questions.”

“Good.”

Alanna gave a sharp nod, quickly checking her sheaths with her fingertips. All was secure. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” she told him, and stepped out into the street.

She hadn’t taken two steps when she was yanked back into the shadows.

George slammed her up against the wall and covered her body with his own. Big hands went to her waist and the back of her neck. He kneed her legs apart and pressed his thigh between them. His mouth hovered just above hers.

“You just killed eight men.” His voice was barely audible, and his eyes were glittering.

Alanna swallowed and gave a half-shrug. “I missed you,” she said lightly, but her voice quavered.

“Wife,” he rumbled, “I swear, when we’re in the same bed again —“ he stroked one hand firmly up to the curve of her breast and shoved upwards with his thigh. She stifled a whimper and tried not to arch into him. The adrenaline of the fight switched into something hotter. For the first time that night, she couldn’t quite breathe. “I’d take you right now, but there’s not nearly enough time for everything I want.”

“George—“ she started. He cut her off with a brutal kiss that set the blood pounding in her veins. He didn’t pull away until she was gasping, hands fisting in his shirt. 

“ _Everything_ , Alanna,” he growled. Then, just as swiftly as he’d seized her, he released her. “Go before I want you too much.”

Alanna went. She dared one quick look over her shoulder when she reached the end of the street. He was gone.

_________

 

When Alanna arrived in Corus the next evening, she took the smallest gate into the palace walls and dodged announcing herself. Even so, she’d barely finished rubbing down her mount when a runner with Jon’s personal crest on his tunic appeared at her elbow. She looked at him warily.

He bowed. “The King requests your immediate presence in his study, Sir Alanna.”

Alanna rolled her eyes. “All right,” she grumbled. “Tell him I’m coming.” She turned to the task of hanging up her tack, but the runner didn’t leave. “What else?” she demanded.

The runner bowed again. “I am to personally escort you to the King. His Majesty’s orders. My lady. Sir.”

Alanna scowled. She took a deliberately long time hanging her tack and double-checking her mount’s hooves. When she trailed the runner into the palace, it was at a leisurely stroll.

Jon’s study was set off a small corridor in the royal wing. On a bench outside lounged the Baron of Pirate’s Swoop. His long legs stretched nearly across the span of the hallway. His head was tilted back against the wall. He smiled when Alanna turned the corner, and held a hand out.

She took it. He pressed her palm to his mouth, hazel eyes dancing. The runner rapped a few times precisely on Jon’s door and was admitted. “I think we’re in trouble,” George stage-whispered, lips tickling her palm.

Alanna stroked his cheek with her thumb. Someone, she guessed Baird by the fine work, had seen to the bruise on his cheekbone and the scrape on his scalp. Good. “I don’t really care if we’re in trouble,” she told George quietly. She hadn’t yet had the time nor the light to see if he was more seriously injured during his stay in the way station. Her eyes flicked over the rest of him now.

“I’m fine, lass,” drawled George, seeing what she was thinking. “Unless you’re just admiring.”

Her mouth twitched. “You did promise me quite something,” she pointed out. “Want to make sure you can deliver.”

He reeled her in, grinning. “Oh, trust me —“

“Send them in,” said Jon’s voice firmly from the other room. Alanna sighed and pulled George up. The runner bowed them both into Jon’s study, and closed the door behind them.

Jon was standing behind his desk. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and a displeased expression. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit, please.”

Alanna picked one and dropped into it with a deliberate lack of grace. George stood behind her and rested warm hands on her shoulders. Jon frowned at both of them. Then he cleared his throat, and shifted his gaze to George.

“George, we are happy to have you back in Corus, and look forward to hearing a full report on your mission. I have… particular interest in the exact method by which you left the house in which you’d been held. Myles says you were able to slip out during a chance brawl, thanks to a faulty lock. I was surprised to hear this, given that prior intelligence indicated a high degree of discipline and efficiency at work in the Gallan ring that would preclude such an accident.” He paused and looked down at a sheet of paper on his desk. “I was _so_ surprised, in fact, that I requested a secondary report be made. It was delivered this afternoon.” He tapped it with a finger. “Our man in Galla informs me that he went to the house and found mage-broken shackles, a mage-broken cell gate, and _eight_ men clearly dead at the hand of an expert swordsman.” Sharp blue eyes landed on Alanna. “Or swordswoman, as the case may be.”

Alanna held his gaze, silently.

Jon took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out. “I told you not to go to Galla,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You didn’t tell me not to go to Galla. You just didn’t send me to Galla,” she retorted. Above her, George cleared his throat very quietly and pressed down on her shoulders. _Admit nothing_ , he’d always drilled into her. She shut up.

“You are the King’s Champion,” snapped Jonathan. “I will not have you committing murder in my name.”

George’s lessons aside, she couldn’t let that slide. “It wasn’t in your name. I don't murder for you. I kill you for you. There’s a difference.” Her voice was low. She looked down at her hands. “I murder for _him_.”

Jonathan stared at her for a long moment. Then he looked at George, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Mithros’ sake, George, don’t look _pleased_ by that. _”_

“Can’t help it, your Majesty,” said George, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "She's so rarely romantic, I take what I can get." 

Jonathan grumbled something foul underneath his breath. “The two of you are a terrifying combination. You know that, right?” he demanded.

Neither of them said a word.

Jonathan sat heavily in his chair. “Both of you, out. And don’t do this again.”

They left without bowing. Once in the hallway, George wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple lightly. “I love you, darlin’ girl. Thank you for coming to get me.”

Alanna pressed her cheek to his chest and breathed him in. “I love you too.” She slid an arm around his waist as they walked out of the royal wing. “I need dinner, and a hot bath. But after that…“

“After that, my terrifying sweetheart,” George said, voice full of dark promise, “you're all mine.”


End file.
